


liquid courage

by aac7



Series: friends being a headache [9]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), only this time...yuri is the headache
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 05:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30016695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aac7/pseuds/aac7
Summary: Judging from the setting, it only made sense that their conversation should be informal. It wouldn’t make sense to discuss details of their campaign out in the open and under the influence. Felix combs his mind for any overlap in their personal lives, coming up with only two topics. One was the boar, and the other was...him._____In which Felix witnesses his father and his professor get a drink together, and he is Not Okay with it.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth
Series: friends being a headache [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958674
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43





	liquid courage

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was brought to you by post-midterm anxiety and sleep deprivation. i hope you enjoy!!!

When Sylvain had interrupted Felix’s routine to drag him down into Abyss, he had resigned himself to an unproductive night of gambling on this month’s underground brawling tournament. It wasn’t how he preferred to spend one of their few nights off, but he could at least gauge some new techniques, watch Balthus get smacked around, and pocket some gold from Sylvain.

In truth, he hadn’t really had a problem with the interruption. Byleth had been busy and he was getting tired of waving his sword around alone. That changes slightly when the scent of cheap spirits and the sound of obnoxiously loud chatter hit his senses.

“You pulled me out of training to _drink?_ ” 

The firm grip on his wrist doesn’t loosen, and Sylvain looks back at him over his shoulder, exasperated. “Quit complaining! We’re alive and celebrating our victory! Claiming the Great Bridge last week was a huge win for the Kingdom.”

Felix rolls his eyes and wrinkles his nose as Sylvain pulls him into Abyss’ cramped, makeshift tavern. “We barely got out of there alive,” he mutters as he’s pushed into a rickety wooden chair. It was hard to focus on much else when he and Byleth had been stuck babysitting a wild boar. That one-track mind with a penchant for death and destruction was nothing but trouble for those tasked with keeping him alive.

“All the more reason to raise a glass,” Sylvain reiterates, patting him on the shoulder. “I invited everyone else, though I don’t think Dimitri is coming…”

Felix didn’t care if he was coming or not. Claiming the Bridge meant they were now right on death’s doorstep, as their impending invasion of the Empire was literally weeks away.

Now that thought _did_ make him want to drink a little. 

“Nothing too hard,” he concedes with a dismissive flick of his hand. “I want to be conscious tomorrow for the strategy meeting.” Sylvain makes an annoyingly giddy sound as he saunters off in the direction of the bar.

It wasn’t that Felix hated drinking. He just didn’t think it wise to do so in the midst of a war. Alcohol lowered inhibitions and dulled all of one’s senses. What if the monastery were to be attacked again? What if he was needed on a scouting mission? What if—

The consistently loud chatter that had filled his ears from the moment they’d walked in lulls momentarily, prompting Felix to peer over his shoulder to see what’d silenced the room.

All the air leaves his lungs when he watches Byleth and his father walk into the tavern, claiming a small table in the corner of the room. 

“What the hell?” He directs to no one in particular. What were his _father_ and his...his _ProfessorGirlfriendLover_ doing here? It couldn’t have been by coincidence, as they’d arrived at the same time and had sat at the same table. They were here _together_ and by what appeared to be their own accord. 

When she’d refused his offer to a late-night training session, this was most definitely not what Felix imagined she would be preoccupied with.

He stares unabashedly at the pair, unexplainable discomfort coiling in his gut, among a plethora of other feelings. The most prevalent being confusion, shock, and utter disbelief because, again, _what the hell?_

The barkeep is quick to place two flagons of ale on their table, an awestruck expression in his eye when Rodrigue smiles and thanks him, compensating the man with a handsome tip. Byleth wraps her fingers around the one closest to her and glances across the table, as if waiting for permission. She drinks when his father does, taking small, tentative sips. He’d seen her chug water with not even half the amount of restraint she was suddenly showing. 

It’s almost as if she’s _shy._

If either of them notice Felix staring (glaring), they make no effort to acknowledge him. In fact, when they start conversing, the entire scene is alarmingly casual. Byleth’s body language is hardly adversarial, she makes direct eye contact with him when he speaks, and that endearing tilt of her head suggests that she’s engaging in willful reciprocation. 

What could they possibly be talking about? Tactics? Weaponry? No, anything of military importance had surely been addressed during this afternoon’s war council. 

Judging from the setting, it only made sense that their conversation should be informal. It wouldn’t make sense to discuss details of their campaign out in the open and under the influence. Felix combs his mind for any overlap in their personal lives, coming up with only two topics. One was the boar, and the other was...him.

His father makes a lively gesture with his hands, and says something that Felix strains to hear, but ultimately cannot make out over the noise of the tavern. Whatever he says makes Byleth smile, consequently making Felix’s stomach do a belly flop. 

Were they talking about him? Usually he could care less what people thought or said of him, as the only opinion that mattered was his own.

 _This_ was an entirely different matter. The idea of his father and his _ProfessorGirlfriendLover_ talking about him made his palms sweat profusely against the leather of his gloves.

Where was Sylvain with that damn alcohol?

As if summoned by Felix’s distress, Sylvain finally returns with Ingrid under his arm (when had she arrived?), sliding a glass over to him. 

“Are you okay? You look a little warm,” Ingrid frowns, sitting across from him. She reaches across the table and presses her hand to his forehead. It’s the coolness of her touch that alerts him to the heat spreading across his face. When Felix swats her hand away, she turns to Sylvain. “How long have you guys been drinking? You know Felix isn’t allowed more than six drinks.”

He’s about to tell Ingrid that, despite being the youngest, he isn’t a child that needs monitoring. However, the universe has other plans when it fills Felix’s ears with his father’s hearty laughter, and his eyes snap across the room once more. A light blush dusts Byleth’s cheeks. 

Ingrid and Sylvain don’t hesitate in following his gaze, exchanging equally amused expressions. Loathe as he was to admit it, the two of them knew Felix better than he knew himself. 

Before either of them can say anything, he grabs the glass of brown liquid, throwing its entire contents back without hesitation. He hadn’t known what to expect and the tasteless burn cascading down his throat makes him cough. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, but gestures to the barkeep to bring him another. There wasn’t much chance of him getting anything smoother. Alcohol in Abyss was limited to a cheap but strong mug of ale and whiskey in a questionable shade of brown.

That being said, Felix downs the second one the moment it’s placed in front of him, ignoring Ingrid’s disapproving stare. He didn’t see _her_ father talking to Sylvain about her.

**__________**

Byleth can feel the heat of Felix’s stare from where he sat across the tavern, but forces her eyes to remain forward. 

It’d been a friendly invitation, one that had been extended as thanks for all her hard work the last two months. Who would she be to say no to _the_ Duke Fraldarius? He was a fine companion, for all intents and purposes. He’d graciously paid for her drink, engaged her in thoughtful conversation, and even shared stories of his own time on the battlefield. He was likeable in every aspect, everything she’d imagined when Felix had mentioned that those of House Fraldarius were the highest ranking members of the Faerghus nobility.

“All weapons have their strengths and weaknesses, but at the end of the day, they’re only as deadly as the person wielding them. Lances are beneficial to mounted units, or for people who may be hesitant in their close combat abilities.” Byleth says, merely an offhand comment in their debate of swords versus lances.

That’s her first misstep, though. Something in Rodrigue’s gaze shifts, and Byleth suddenly feels as though she’s walked into some sort of trap. 

“What a coincidence,” he murmurs thoughtfully. “Felix made that exact argument when I implored him to study the lance. You two have much in common.”

“It…it would appear that we do,” Byleth answers carefully. Good goddess, why was it suddenly so hot in here?

It becomes apparent that she’s in for a very long night when Rodrigue leans forward, something inquisitive behind that cheery demeanor. “Speaking of Felix, it appears that he’s taken a great liking to you.”

Byleth takes a deep breath, hoping he doesn’t notice the way her cup trembles against the table when she sets it down. “Is that so?” 

“Yes,” he nods. “I’m quite observant, Professor. I think it’s quite endearing, really, to see the way my son acts around you. You two must be quite…” he pauses, either in search of the right word or to kill Byleth with suspense. He doesn’t muse long, regarding her in a way that makes her want to disappear into the ground. “Close,” he settles on.

Close...

The night after they’d taken the Bridge, Felix had followed her back to her tent. High on their victory, _close_ could hardly describe the way their hands had explored every plane of the other’s body. It couldn’t begin to describe the hot and hungry trail Felix’s lips and tongue had traced down her breasts and stomach, or the crescents Byleth’s nails had dug into his shoulder blades. Close just didn’t fully encapsulate the wicked look in his eye as he’d studied her every reaction, feeling how her legs trembled around him and her body writhed, their moans muffled by teeth sinking into each other’s skin.

It could hardly describe afterwards when he laid beside her, fingers intertwined with hers. When the lust in his eyes had cleared, replaced with something much more demure but equally affectionate as he’d kissed her slow and deep.

Oh, they were _something_ alright, but if Felix wasn’t going to tell his father about them, then it wasn’t her place to say so.

“Professor? Are you alright? You’re looking rather red.” He sounds more amused than concerned, and it makes Byleth want to disappear.

“We’re friends, yes,” she shrugs, but her shoulders are so stiff that the action is mildly uncomfortable. 

Rodrigue stares at her, clearly not satisfied with her vague response.

Byleth stares back, anxiety creeping down her spine. 

“What a pleasant surprise. It’s not often that we get a visit from the adorable new Archbishop and the handsome Duke Fraldarius.”

“Yuri,” she greets, thankful for the intrusion that grants her a brief respite from that awfully knowing look. The relief that washes over her is immediate, but quickly replaced by curiosity as Yuri slides into a seat next to Rodrigue instead of her.

“Friend,” he replies, but he’s not looking at her.

“Yuri,” Rodrigue repeats, turning his attention to their uninvited guest. “You’re Count Rowe’s adopted son, aren’t you? I must admit, his willingness to surrender Arianrhod to the Empire was most troublesome.”

Flippant as ever, Yuri flashes him a steely smirk. “So it was. The Count is an...interesting man. Like most men of Faerghus, he was quite the barbarian. Loud mouthed and socially tactless, lacking the otherworldly charm that a _duke_ might possess.” 

Rodrigue’s brows arch, and Byleth takes a deep swig of her ale, sinking into her seat. If this is going where she thinks…

Yuri places his elbows on the table, resting his cheek upon folded hands. “So, _Duke Fraldarius,_ do tell me what brings you down to the dark and dirty underground.”

He gestures to Byleth. “Merely a social visit with a colleague.”

Lilac eyes narrow suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you came for the booze, you’re hardly hurting for gold and could do much better than here.” 

“Is it really so odd to see me here?”

Oh, Byleth knew what was coming next. She’d gotten this speech too, the first time she’d stumbled upon Abyss.

“You see, people like _you_ don’t come to places like this for no reason. Or, perhaps you heard the rumours and came here seeking a favour. If that’s the case, then you are in the right place, and I would gladly offer you my... _services,”_ Yuri murmurs, voice dripping with brazen suggestion. “Anything goes, my Lord.” He curls his hand into a fist, thumb jutting out. Slowly, he drags the edge of his fingernail across his throat and winks. “And I mean _anything_ you desire.”

“Yuri!” Byleth scolds, slightly mortified as Rodrigue laughs into his mug.

“A kind offer indeed, but wholly unnecessary as I—”

“Byleth!”

Oh _gods._

She cranes her head around in time to see Felix shoulder through the tavern, striding towards them like a man on a mission. When he comes to stand in front of him, his gaze narrows slightly at Yuri, the ferocity of his attempted glare effectively dulled by the adorable flush of his cheeks. At his abandoned table, Ingrid mouths a quick ‘sorry’ and Sylvain shoots her a thumbs up. 

He’s _tipsy_ , Byleth realizes when his expression quickly smooths. He has to be, considering he isn’t currently scowling at his father. 

Felix drops himself into the seat next to her. “Hi,” he breathes, gazing at her with such adoration that one would think she’d hung the moon and stars. 

No one says anything when he reaches out, calloused fingertips brushing against her cheek and tucking a lock of stray hair behind her ear.

With her pulse thundering in her eardrums, Byleth almost misses the way Rodrigue chuckles across from them. 

“Uh, hi.” Red in the face, Byleth can only imagine how guilty she must look right now. Especially as Felix’s hand lingers on her cheek, entirely unperturbed by the presence of his father. “Are you okay?”

Drawing inference from last month’s round of victory drinks, Byleth knew that it didn’t take much alcohol for Felix to loosen up. In fact, she knew it took approximately three drinks to blur his inhibitions enough that he became so openly affectionate. Touchy. 

“I’m good,” he murmurs, the warmth in his voice like a blanket enveloping her heart. Felix leans in, his face dangerously close to hers. “Just missed you—” 

“At the training grounds,” she finishes quickly, pressing her hand against his lips and pushing his face away. She pretends not to notice when he licks her palm. “Yes, I know. Perhaps we can train together tomorrow.”

“ _Training,_ ” Yuri repeats mockingly, using the back of his hand to swat Rodrigue’s arm. “Now there’s a lark. Tell me, does this so-called training involve lessons on _swords_ and _sheaths?”_

Rodrigue sputters into his mug of ale, his shoulders shaking with laughter. Byleth feels as if she might melt into the floor. She should have known that sharing her father’s unconventional analogy with Yuri would come back to bite her.

“I _know_ how to sheathe a sword,” Felix rebuffs. He either hasn’t caught on, or was simply trying to prove his prowess. Both were a possibility. “My skills are sharp and my blade is sharper.”

Yuri actually laughs, the sound unusually warm and genuine. “Oh, I’d love to know who’s been sharpening your blade. Won’t you please enlighten us?”

Had Byleth’s heart worked properly, it’d have busted through her rib cage by now.

As if finally sensing the dangerous turn he’d so easily been guided down, Felix’s easy smile morphs into a deep frown. “No,” he sniffs, likely irritated by both Yuri and himself. “It’s nobody.”

Byleth releases a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, utter relief flooding her system. That was close.

But Yuri could not be so easily deterred. 

“So you wouldn’t mind if _I_ asked our lovely professor to _sharpen my blade_ then?” He purrs, the shameless proposition accompanied by an alluring flutter of his lashes.

Byleth squeezes Felix’s knee under the table. _Don’t react, don’t react, don’t rea—_

Felix does anything but not react, grasping Byleth’s chin and pulling her in for one of the messiest kisses she’s had in her life. It’s open-mouthed and sloppy, tasting of cheap ale and poorly aged whiskey. She gasps as his kiss turns desperate, their teeth clashing when he deepens their contact, as if he’s trying to take in as much of her as possible.

They only stop when someone clears their throat, prompting Byleth to pull away. Felix appears unbothered, using the back of his glove to wipe the saliva from his satisfied smirk.

Byleth stares at him, unsure if she’s more aroused or horrified at the moment. Both seem apt.

The aftermath of their kiss seems to have cleared whatever fog had fallen over Felix’s mind, because the flush on his cheeks quickly fades when he realizes who it is they’re in the presence of. 

Yuri looks mildly impressed by Felix's very public display of affection, but it’s not him that either of them are worried about.

“Ah, so you two _are_ close,” Rodrigue grins, eyes twinkling as if they were the most interesting thing he’d seen all day. “I do hope you’ll consider returning to Fraldarius with us after the war, Professor. It’s been quite some time since our territory has seen a Duchess.”

Byleth’s mouth hangs open uselessly at the implication, and a red-faced Felix turns away, gesturing for another drink.

What a night.

**__________**

“I can walk on my own.”

Byleth adjusts the arm draped heavily over her shoulders. She’s relieved when she sees the moonlight spilling through the crack in the wall. “I know you can, but I can’t with you hanging onto me like this.”

Felix pushes his face into her hair, inhaling deeply. “Just wanna be close to you…” 

Six-drink Felix was clingy. A fact that Byleth has learned as he’d taken shots to avoid his father’s light teasing.

Sighing, Byleth ducks out from under him and steps through the hole in the wall, grasping Felix’s forearms and helping him through. The night breeze feels cool against her flushed skin, but the deep breath of fresh air is halted when Felix wraps his arms around her from behind, whining softly into her neck.

Byleth pats his arm, sighing once more. “Let’s get you to your room.”

“Yours is closer.” His response is murmured directly over her pulse, making her shudder. 

Her room is closer, and it’d be much easier to dump him onto her bed rather than bear his weight going up multiple sets of stairs. 

It proves challenging to walk with Felix clinging to her so tightly, but she somehow manages. She drags him into her room and untangles herself from his embrace, gently sitting a bleary-eyed Felix on the edge of her bed.

He hums a soft, romantic tune he’d likely picked up from Dorothea as Byleth sets about unclasping his cloak and tugging off his boots. He manages to get his pants off on his own, tossing them across the room and falling into bed wearing nothing but a loose white shirt. 

She turns away to pick up and fold his things, but he catches her hand, soft lips ghosting over each of her knuckles. “Leave them. Come to bed.”

Letting herself be drawn in by his tired smile and half lidded eyes, Byleth obliges. She falls into bed next to him, curling into his side. 

“I can’t believe your father knows,” she mutters. “I can’t believe you kissed me like that _in front of your father.”_ It was every bit as horrifying as Byleth could have imagined

Felix is silent for a moment. “He already knew, he just likes making us squirm.”

Byleth chuckles. That Duke Fraldarius really was sneaky, wasn’t he? “What an odd man.”

“...If I kiss you again, can we stop talking about him? That old man hardly qualifies as a suitable pillow talk.” Felix rolls onto his side, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. 

“Kiss me once and then go to sleep,” she murmurs, allowing him to dip down and kiss her once more. He was warm against her skin, and as always, Byleth felt as if she were burning. Perhaps it was the alcohol working its way through their systems, or maybe it was the growing passion stoked by the pure, unadulterated bliss she felt laying in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> two years later: 
> 
> felix: no. yuri is not coming to our wedding  
> byleth: why not?  
> felix: he's tried to fuck you _and_ my dad.


End file.
